


Unexpected Side Effects

by NDKiwi



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Drugs, M/M, dub con
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-06
Updated: 2013-09-06
Packaged: 2017-12-25 20:03:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/957068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NDKiwi/pseuds/NDKiwi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Johns is trying to go out and have a normal date.  Sherlock is having a bit of an issue at the flat.  Can John help him solve it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Text from the insane

**Author's Note:**

> This is ongoing!!! Not brit picked or UnBeta'd! if you wanna do either for me just let me know!

I require your assistance. When will you be home? SH  
I am busy. That blind date thing, remember? I told you about it. Four times. Before I left. Require someone else’s assistance. –JW  
No one else can help. I need my doctor. It is a personal matter. SH  
Oh for the love of… What kind of personal matter? -JW  
If it is personal, I obviously cannot discuss it here. SH  
Ah. Yes. I forgot. That pesky group of teens down the way are going to pluck your digital message from the air and you’ll never hear the end of it. –JW  
Irrelevant. Please. I need you. SH  
Unless there is blood, fire, or death imminent, STOP texting me. –JW  
Wait…is there death imminent? -JW  
Mental death, though there is quite a bit of pain. SH  
You think you’re going to get bored to death at any given moment. What kind of pain? -JW  
Physical…very uncomfortable. But by all means enjoy your ‘date’. I’m sure sleeping on her sofa tonight will do wonders for your shoulder. SH  
I’m fairly sure I knew it was physical, you clot. I meant sharp pain? Throbbing? Intermittent? Constant? And, at this point, sleeping on her sofa will do wonders for your neck. As I won’t be able to throttle you. –JW  
It is an ache with intermittent sharp pain when anything touches the area. SH  
Where’s it located? -JW  
In my lower extremities. SH  
Mm. Have you tried taking anything for it? -JW  
Of course I tried to take care of it myself before I contacted you. SH  
Well! Sometimes you’re the stupidest smart person I’ve ever met, all right? Is there any swelling? Redness? Warmth to it? -JW  
All of the above. John please. I don’t know what to do. SH  
Fine. Fine, all right? -JW  
Thank you. SH  
Don’t thank me yet. Because if this is something ridiculous, I’m damn sure going to break your ‘lower extremities’ the second I get through the door. –JW

Sherlock just smirked at his phone before he laid it down, wincing a bit in pain. About twenty minutes later, he heard a cab pull up outside and the familiar sound of John’s footsteps on the stairs leading to their flat. He sat back, crossing his legs and then thinking better of it when the discomfort was felt. He just sat there, legs draped over the edge of the sofa, fully clothed, dressing gown wrapped loosely around him. He barely looked up when the door was opened roughly.  
“Finally.”


	2. What are you asking  me to do?

John was fairly sure that one could probably read the irritation in his footsteps. And, for some odd reason the sitting room door was closed. John shoved it open with a bit more force than necessary. There was his patient. Well, not exactly a patient, but he was damn well going to be if this wasn’t cleared up. And fast. John snorted as Sherlock scarcely lifted his head, shrugging out of his coat and tossing it onto the back of his armchair.  
“Funny, you don’t look like a man with much pain in his,” John pointed vaguely towards Sherlock’s draped legs, “lower extremities. Not quite so funny? You’re about to be. What, in the name of God, could not wait?”  
“I have an erection, John.”  
John just blinked. His arms dropped to his sides and he just blinked.   
“Wh…e-excuse me?”  
Sherlock slid gingerly into the sitting position, his dressing gown falling open to reveal a very prominent bulge in his trousers.   
“I said, I have an erection.”  
John’s mouth fell open, his eyebrows raising as he glanced downward at the obvious evidence of one pressing against the thin material of those tight bottoms the detective was wearing. John turned his head away, flapping a hand like a child being presented vegetable when they’d much prefer candy.  
“That’s—tha—I can see that, yes! Thank you. Thank you for that. What the hell does that have—“Oh. OH! It took a moment for it all to click together. Personal matter, aching, swelling, redness, ‘lower extremities’. Naturally Sherlock would use that phrase to mean hi damnable cock.  
“This…this is why you—are you fucking with me?!”  
"No John. I am not, to quote you 'fucking with you". Sherlock was visibly uncomfortable and he couldn’t figure out why John seemed so upset. 

"I have not had one since I was 19. I deleted them because they were a distraction. Now I suddenly have one and I am at a loss as to how to handle it. No pun intended."

John looked to the other. Met his eyes. Nope. No. Sherlock was being perfectly serious. John just looked perplexed. Completely, utterly flabbergasted. He stared for another moment before his mouth moved. And, despite its moving, nothing came out. At first. Just some sputtering. "Wh-... you... since you were nineteen? This is your--...." John laughed. He didn't mean to. But he did. And, he found, now that he'd started, it was kind of hard to stop. He should be furious right now, not turning away from Sherlock and trying to stifle his laughter.

"Very mature John. This is serious." He stared at the doctor. "So professional. I really do need help."  
John shook his hand, holding up a finger, doubling over with his mirth. "N-n-no! L-let me get this str-straight: y-you... you called me h-here... because you don't kn-know how to toss one o-off?" Merely saying such made John laugh harder.

"Of course I know how to wank. If I didn't, all id have to do is look at your laptop, which I tried as well. I took the issue in hand and it didn’t help." He stood up gingerly and threw his hands in the air. "I don’t know what else to do. I need your help. Please John." His voice was as pained as his body right now. His face was screwed up as he begged. He bit back a groan as he knelt down in front of the still giggling army doctor and looked up at him through his dark lashes imploringly. "I am begging you. I can’t shut it off and my mind won’t quiet down. PLEASE!?"

John shook his head again, his laughter easing into chuckles at the way Sherlock stood. John wiped at his watering eyes, blinking when Sherlock began to plead with him. "If... if you couldn't get off, you obviously weren't doing something right." John shuffled a step back when Sherlock began to kneel, frowning somewhat, though his face was still reddened and his eyes were still watery. John sniffed, rubbing up under his own nose, considering that pale face and those green-blue eyes. The doctor lifted his hands, shrugging his shoulders. "What do you expect me to do? I'm... I mean, I'm not... going to do it for you. That's out of the question."

Sherlock whimpered quietly as he tried to stand, his bottoms causing friction. He was falling apart. He couldn’t think straight. He didn't know what else to do. He crawled on his hands and knees towards the sofa, unable to pull himself up, and laid his head in his hands on the cushion. He reached down to palm the erection, moaning at the sensation, yet knowing it wasn't right.   
"OH god, John. Please help me, I am begging you! Please." He was nearly crying as he pleaded with his flat mate to do the unthinkable.

Sherlock made the smallest, softest sound of helplessness as he was trying to get back to his feet. John hesitated, about a second away from reaching down to help the other when Sherlock... crawled to the sofa, leaning against it. Then he heard his friend moan, low and... pleasured and pained and John's face went hot, his eyes averting. Sherlock was pleading with him. Begging him to touch him, to bring him off. John's mouth suddenly went dry. Christ, he'd never... ever heard Sherlock sound near to tears before. Sherlock wasn't looking to him, but John brought his hands up, fingers spread helplessly. "Sh-Sherlock... what... wh-what do you want me to do?" Was he honestly contemplating this? Of bringing another man off? Not just any man, mind, but his brilliant, eccentric, and, yes, gorgeous-- John wasn't blind-- flat mate.

In his haze, Sherlock could sense John move closer to him and the concern in his voice sent shivers down his body.  
"I don't know John." He whimpered. "Could you try talking me through it to start with?"

He watched the shivers that wracked Sherlock's body and John thought, for a second, if this could somehow be drug induced if it was this strong. Aphrodisiac? Did Sherlock somehow get dosed and not know it? John swallowed around his dry throat, and then bit his lip, pausing for a moment before sighing. "Um...let's... let's just get you to your room, all right? First things first and all that." John hesitated. "Do you... do you need help up?"

Sherlock was panting now. His mind searching for relief, thankful in the promise of release. "Oh, god, Joh...oh...ohn!" The name came out as a moan. "Please." He sat back on his heel, head thrown back, exposing his long, alabaster neck to the air. His body shuddered as he felt John come up behind him and virtually sang as he wrapped a strong, soldiers hand around his elbow pulling him.


	3. Helping your flatmate get off isnt gay is it?

What had started out as a joke was quickly becoming anything but as John moved forward, feeling his face grow redder as Sherlock moaned. Moaned for him. And that shouldn't be appealing. It shouldn't be. Those dark curls were starting to become darker near the edges around Sherlock's face. Sweat. The detective was starting to sweat. John moved up behind the other, leaning in and grasping both of Sherlock's arms near the elbows, pulling the other to his feet. "Shh," John went instinctively. No. This couldn't be a regular... erection. Had to be drug induced from the way Sherlock shuddered against him and pressed closer to him. John closed his own eyes briefly before he began to move them both through the kitchen, to the hall on the other side of the fridge. Sherlock's bedroom isn't far, and John pushed the door open, reaching out to flick the lamp on whilst holding Sherlock steady with one hand. "Here... here we are. Just... just sit on the bed for a moment." John paused, settling Sherlock into a sitting position on his bed. Almost without thinking, John went to reach for the buttons on Sherlock's shirt. He paused. Then dropped his hands away, flushing brightly as he a turned away some. "You... you should take your clothes off. Get under the blanket, yeah?"

Sherlock's legs were like jelly as they moved towards his bedroom. He leaned hard against John’s strong body to stay on his feet. When he was sat down on the bed he tried to catch his breath without success. He was panting when John reached out to undo his buttons but then he suddenly stopped, telling him to do it himself and get under the blanket.   
"I...I...John...I dont think..." He tried to pop the buttons but his fingers seemed to have a mind of their own. He dropped his hands into his lap unconsciously, causing a flare of arousal and pain to shoot through him when he grazed his cock. "Fu...u...u...c...k..." he fell backwards on the bed, long legs splayed off the edge, spread eagle to try to get space between it and his thighs.

Sherlock stuttered. Stuttered and panted and squirmed against the bedding whether he realized it or not. John bit his lip, debating it for a moment before he settled down beside the other on the edge of the bed. John shifted, watching that lithe form stretch on the mattress. There was no way this was a normal reaction. Not to a simple erection. Had to be drug induced. Had to be. 

At least, that's what John was telling himself as he leaned in over Sherlock some, shushing him quietly, beginning to undo the simple buttons of that purple dress shirt. "It's all right, its fine, Sherlock. Shh, calm... calm down. We'll... we'll fix this." John wet his lips, his face on fire, his heart already tattooing the inside of his ribcage. What was he doing? What the fuck did he think he was doing? He was actually considering this, that's what he was doing. Jesus.

John faltered a second after untucking Sherlock's dress shirt from his trousers, instinctively petting a hand over the warmth of the detective's abdomen out of some desire to comfort. "Let me.... let me get this off you." John stuttered some. Because, yeah, he was a doctor, but there was a very big difference between being a professional medical man and.... well, giving your friend a handjob. "I'm going to take these off you... and then I want you to roll up onto your side on the bed, okay? That'll... that'll make this easier." On John, anyway.  
At the touch of John’s fingers to his skin, Sherlock murmured and writhed, unable to control it. He tried his best to hold back from bucking and arching into Johns touch as he removed his shirt. The soft tone of his voice and the barely concealed arousal added fuel to the fire in Sherlock’s belly. As he felt the deft fingers undo the button of his trousers, he hissed through his teeth, biting back a moan. John was gentle, but the heavenly scratch of the zip being pulled down nearly drove him round the bend. He had never been so happy to have foregone underpants as he was on this day. One less layer to worry about. As the cooler air hit his jutting erection, his hips instinctively bound into the air. He barely felt his trousers being hastily pulled off his legs as his doctor talked to him, telling him what to do. He wanted to do as John asked and tried to roll onto his side, so much more difficult than he could remember it ever being since he was an infant. He over corrected though and ended up face first in the mattress, his cock trapped between his belly and the fine sheets of the bed.   
"Oh....oh....god...." he stuttered and began to rut erratically, the friction both painful and relieving. He knew he needed more though and tried to push himself up on his elbows. He barely managed this, but somehow was able to get his errant legs under him as well, putting him in a rather compromising position, not that he cared. As he stayed there, ass in the air, head hanging between his arms, panting erratically, looking down his body towards the nervous man standing behind him, he could not suppress his voice any more.  
"John. Please. Do something. ANYTHING! Now."

Well, so much for talking one through it, John thought as Sherlock squirmed onto his stomach after John had removed his slacks. It wasn't exactly as John had requested. In fact, it wasn't exactly as John had requested in the least as he stood there, flushed and dry mouthed and still holding on to those trousers. At least, however, he hadn't had to remove any underwear. Considering Sherlock had not been wearing underwear. 

In fact, Sherlock was quite nude as that rich baritone demanded for John to do something. Anything. John's fingers went loose on the trousers he was holding, allowing them to puddle to the floor. John swallowed hard, unable to not stare as he slipped up onto the bedding and stretched out onto his side, reaching a hand to the detective's shoulder. "...C'mere to me. Lay down... this will be too awkward if you don't."  
Sherlock felt the bed dip as John sank onto it at his side. The younger man’s rough yet tender hands reached out to touch his shoulder tentatively. Sherlock bit his bottom lip and allowed the doctor to pull him down onto his side. He was losing his mind in the feeling and shivers began to rack his body. Unconsciously he huddled himself backwards towards the warmth of the body behind him. As he came in contact with his prone flat mate, the feel of his jeans and the rough wear of his jumper were too much for his sensitive skin. He jerked away as if burned.  
"Too rough. Hurts." His skin was flushed as if it were on fire and he had to fight to not endure the pain just to have the closeness of Johns body and the heat and promises contained within. He felt wetness on his cheeks and realized he had started crying. He could not be brought to care. His mind was a tangle and he didn’t know what was happening to him. This was bad. This was good. This was pain. This was pleasure. He wanted it to end. He wanted it to last forever.   
"UGH! SHIT!" He yelled with his eyes squeezed shut as he turned over on his other side awkwardly and lay facing John. Sherlock reached out a trembling hand to grasp John’s face, desperation playing on his own.   
"Please. Help. Me."

John was all of a second away from instinctively putting his arm around Sherlock when the detective jerked away from him heatedly. John blinked, not quite registering what Sherlock was talking about at first. At first. Too rough. Oh. Oh. His clothes were too... Oh, Jesus. 

"I... " John began as Sherlock rolled over, facing him, ready to tell him that John wasn't near to being comfortable with stripping, until he saw the tear tracks on that face, the desperation etched in Sherlock's features as the detective pressed a trembling hand to his face.

John pulled back without thinking on it, rolling onto his back long enough to grasp the hems of his jumper and undershirt and pulling them up and off, allowing them to fall heedlessly to the floor. When he moved back, John didn't hesitate; he simply shushed the other quietly before he allowed their mouths to graze together. If he was going to do this, he was going to do this properly.

Sherlock let out a sound of sorrow as John pulled away, fearing he was going to leave. He caught himself before he grasped at the compact man. He saw John pulling his jumper off and leaving him bare chested. As John rolled back over to face him, he scooted closer to Sherlock. It took a moment for the kiss to register in Sherlock’s tumultuous mind, but when it did, he let himself lean into it. He scrambled his arms out, clasping his hand around John’s neck, pulling him closer, needing him closer.  
"Oh...god...mmmm" he mumbled against the doctors soft lips. As soon as he parted his lips, he felt that devilishly pink tongue that had fascinated him in the past dart into his own, tasting him. He mirrored the movements and was almost overwhelmed by the taste of tea, jammy dodgers, jam, and JOHN. He felt a hand reach up to tangle in his hair, causing him to break the kiss and arch his marble neck, giving John more canvas to paint with his kisses and gentle nips. With is agile and vicious mouth, John was taking him apart, piece by piece, and Sherlock, for one, couldn't wait to be put back together again.

It took a moment, just a moment, and then... then Sherlock was kissing him heatedly in return, making these warm, pleased little sounds that caused heat to roll through John. Hard to deny it, now that he was in the middle of it-- he wanted this. Had wanted this. He was so adamant about being straight, because he was, but suddenly his tongue was inside Sherlock's mouth and he couldn't give a damn what label he fell under. 

Sherlock broke their kiss, his head going back, arching in pleasure and John nuzzled that throat before he began to smear his lips up the paleness of it. He felt the pulse just there under Sherlock's jaw and bit down gently, feeling Sherlock petting at him, pulling at him. John went to push closer before he paused, a hand fisted in Sherlock's hair as he took a moment to toe out of his shoes, to kick them off the bed. "Sherlock... Christ, Sherlock..." He was panting now, his heart pounding, his face flushed. He squeezed his hand in those dark curls for a second before he pulled that hand away from the other, reaching down to undo the fastens of his own jeans.

He could hear the sound of John’s zip being pulled down shortly after the thud of his shoes hitting the floor. What’s more, he could fee/ the desire rolling off of John in waves threatening to drag him under. Sherlock had always known he was attracted to the 5’ 6” army doctor, but had never been able to read his true feelings. John had always been a wild card, a blind spot in Sherlock’s knowledge. He was always touching him lightly, reassuringly, smiling in that bright way. Combine that with the fact that he hit on anything in a skirt and it all made for some very confusing signals. But the sounds he was making now and the eagerness to which he was setting about this task brought it all into a gloriously bright light. John wanted this. Wanted him.   
“John, my John.” Sherlock moaned as he inched closer to him, his mouth finding the tanned neck and sucking. He placed small kisses and nips along the delicate collarbone, until he reached the puckered flesh of the scar on his shoulder. John tensed when Sherlock placed his lips on its edge but did not pull away. Sherlock took that as an ok to an unasked question. He explored the planes of the scar, the textures, the ridges, with his lips and tongue. At the very center he nipped at it and he heard a moan escape John’s throat. As he continued his ministrations to the tender flesh of Johns chest, flicking a tongue over the dusty, erect nipples, he felt John slide a knee between his own, resting it so that Sherlock was settled against his thigh. He took his as an invitation and began to rut against the warm skin, relieving just a bit of his pent up ache.  
“I…I…need…oh god…” 

'John,' Sherlock moaned. 'My John' and the mere sound of that... Christ. Oh, Christ. John bit his lip, whimpering into Sherlock's overly warmed skin, shifting on the bedding as, one-handed, he worked his jeans down around his ankles and kicked free of them, leaving him only in his underwear and socks. Sherlock's mouth was heavenly and wonderful against him, kissing his neck, sucking at his neck, which John was particularly responsive to. Then... then Sherlock was nudging at his scar and John felt tension lace through himself involuntarily. But he didn't pull away. Wouldn't pull away. It was tender and sensitive, and when Sherlock sucked softly against it, John couldn't tamp back the groan he released. 

Then Sherlock was kissing over his chest, darting his tongue cleverly over his nipples and causing John to shudder and arch, his thigh slipping between Sherlock's own and feeling the other start to push and fret against him. John took a breath, a deep one, and put his arms around the other, pulling him closer, entangling them and rolling onto his back, rolling Sherlock atop him. "Mm? How's that, love, hmm? That better? Like this?" John questioned as he rocked up against the detective, feeling Sherlock's erection pressing to his own, rubbed between the heat of their stomachs. "...Or more, mm? Talk to me, Sherlock. Tell me."

Sherlock felt Johns strong arm wrap around him as he rolled them over so that Sherlock lay atop him. He gasped as John rocked his hips; giving him the delicious slide his erection on John’s clothed one. He heard John call him ‘love’ and he melted into the touches.

“Tou-ch me, Jo-o-o-hn.” He moaned, longing to feel John on every inch of his body, inside and out. He lowered his mouth to the doctors again, crashing their lips and teeth together while he plundered his mouth with his tongue. “I want you…you…” He rolled his hips, matching every thrust with his own, needing more. Wanting more. He broke the kiss, sitting up, straddling John’s thighs. He ran his hands up and down his chest, fingers lighting over the nipples once again. He fingered the trail of fine, golden hair that trailed down until he reached the edge of the sapphire blue pants. There was already a wet spot from the pre cum that had leaked out during their snog. He leaned down, kissing a trail along the edges of the pants, never straying onto the actual attraction, until gripped his hand in Sherlock’s dark curl, pulling his face up to look him in the eyes. 

“John…”

He nearly lost it then and came in his own pants. He growled and reached down to start shimmying out of them, Sherlock shifting to allowing him to do so. He held his hand up to Sherlocks face.   
“Lick.” He commanded and Sherlock darted his tongue out and slicked it along the palm, soaking it before stopping. John, barely able to stop squirming for long, reached down between them and took both of their cocks in his hand and began to pump them. On every down stroke he twisted his wrist, illiciting a new variety of moans from Sherlock above him. Both mens hips were beginning to move erratically and Sherlock seemed to lose all strength and collapsed down on top of John.   
Sherlock reached one long fingered hand down and entwined it with Johns on their cocks and helped him stroke. He flicked his thumb over the swollen heads of both of their pricks and words began to fall fast from his mouth.  
“OhjesusfuckJohnohgodchristsofuckinggoodpleasedontstop……” They all ran together as he felt his climax coiling tight deep within his belly. John was close too and he used his free hand to pull Sherlock down to devour his mouth. He let go after nipping at hip bottom lip until it was plum and pink.   
“Sherlock…come on…cum for me love…Ive got you…” he whispered breathlessly in his ear.  
Sherlock began to shake as his orgasm hit him. His toes literally curled and he dropped his head onto Johns chest as he spilled himself all over their joined hands and coated both their stomachs.   
“John…” he moaned weakly as John continued to stroke them both, helping Sherlock come down and to bring himself over the edge. With one last stroke, Johns hips flew upward and his hand stilled as he mixed his own seed with Sherlocks.


End file.
